


Stop, Collaborate and Listen

by TuppingLiberty



Series: Tlib FFC 2020 - original works [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bakery, Candlelight, Coffee Shop, Enemies to Friends, February Ficlet Challenge, February Ficlet Challenge 2020, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friends to kissers anyway, M/M, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Dexter's gotten his dream coffee shop up and running, but there's just the small matter of his main rival, Mike, the surly baker from next door. When the power goes out, though, Mike and Dexter get a whole lot closer.For February Ficlet Challenge 2020: Day 2: Bakery or Coffee Shop AU/Candlelight
Relationships: Dexter/Michael, OMC/OMC
Series: Tlib FFC 2020 - original works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620334
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27
Collections: February Ficlet Challenge 2020





	Stop, Collaborate and Listen

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to always do both prompts, and also they're not all going to be this long, probably. The luxury of FFC starting on a weekend. :D

Melanie thunking down her tray of filled sugar containers breaks Dexter from his intense stare - glare, even - across the alleyway at the bakery window next door. 

“Dude, I think you either need to fuck him or punch him,” she mutters, wiping down the table that Dexter had gotten halfway through before being distracted. 

“He bought an espresso machine. Like one of those ‘press a button’ ones. It’s offensive.” Dexter turns away, glare stuck on his face, and takes the tray to start getting the coffee shop’s tables ready for business tomorrow. 

“It’s  _ competition, _ is what you mean.” 

“It’s blatant. He’s not even trying to hide it anymore.” 

“Maybe you guys could work out a deal. If someone brings one of our to-go cups into his place, they get half off a pastry, and vice-versa. Coffee and donuts, espresso and croissants, it’s a match made in heaven.” Melanie taps on the glass of their pastry display case before wiping fingerprint smudges off with her cloth. “No offense, Dex, but you know these suck, right?” 

Dexter chews his lip, trying to ignore the nearly-full pastry case that he’d have to sell at a discounted price tomorrow.  _ If _ they sold. “I had to cut some corners. I couldn’t afford the nice ones, okay?” 

Normally he gets his pastries from a lovely french bakery across town, but he’s had to redirect some funds to rent for the last few months, and the Costco pastries are so tantalizingly cheap. Sadly, his customers are great at being able to tell the difference. He loves them very much, of course, because they’re discerning enough to like his drinks. But more often than not these days, they’re getting their latte to go and heading over to Mike’s bakery. 

Maybe some collaboration would be a good thing. If Mike hadn’t been so infuriatingly condescending and rude when Dexter had first opened his shop. Sure, Mike’s like the fourth generation of his family to own that bakery, and sure, maybe a ‘hipster’ (Mike’s words) coffee shop next store had hurt his sales. Dexter is willing to concede those points. That doesn’t mean Mike has to be a dick every time they happen to meet in the alley between their shops.

“Well, think about it. And don’t stay too late, boss. I worry about you, you know.” 

“I know, Mel, I know.” 

He only stays longer to make a small batch of gelato, his latest experiment. He’s hoping to perfect the recipe before he can start serving it. 

Not staying late means he needs to come early the next morning, though, but Mike’s already beat him, his alley door open, screen in place as heat billows out of the bakery along with the tantalizing smell of fresh-baked bread. Dexter’s stomach groans even though he’s already eaten this morning. 

He’s got stock to inventory and paperwork to deal with, so he’s in the back room when the power goes out. He’s plunged into darkness and his heart races.  _ I paid the power bill, right? Oh god oh god oh god- _

He fumbles for his phone and turns the flashlight on, moving out of the cramped space and into the coffee shop proper. No lights here, either, which is to be expected he supposes, but what’s even stranger is that there’s no lights on in the street, either. He walks to his front window, looking up at the dark streetlight that normally shines right over his front walk. The street is dark - hell, the  _ town _ is dark for as far as he can see. Automatically he checks the bakery, but they’re dark too, at least.

Dexter checks his watch and swears under his breath. They’re supposed to open in another hour. With sunrise on the way, he could open the shop, but he wouldn’t be able to maintain food health standards. It looks like today’s a loss, or at least until the town gets the power figured out.

He sees movement out of the corner of his eye, and then the bane of his existence, Mike of the Bakery Next Door, walks toward his place, his face lit from below by a flickering tealight. He looks lovely, his neatly trimmed beard adding a dark contour to his face, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up to reveal his forearms, his clothes covered by an apron streaked with flour. Dexter’s seen Mike kneading bread more than once, but every time he’s impressed by his powerful shoulders and strong arms. Now, they’re all highlighted by the candlelight and he has Dexter’s  _ full _ attention. 

It’s not until Mike walks up the steps to the coffee shop that Dexter realizes Mike’s coming  _ here. _

He rushes to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open to greet his neighbor and rival. “What’s- what’s going on?” He winces, because it sounds accusatory, like he thinks Mike’s to blame. 

Mike seems to brush it off with a shrug. “A car probably hit a pole. Hopefully everyone’s okay.” 

“Right,” Dexter replies, still leaning on his door. “Um, did you need something?” 

Mike holds up a bag of unlit tea candles. “I wasn’t sure about your flashlight situation, so I thought you might need these?” He looks down pointedly at Dexter’s phone, still shining. “You’re going to want to keep your phone’s battery up, just in case.” 

Dexter flushes, feeling immediately defensive. Somehow Mike always makes him feel this way with his stupid competence. “Right. I was just…” As he taps the phone off, the coffee shop goes dark except for the candle Mike’s holding. “I’d appreciate them, actually.” 

Mike’s lips quirk up, like he knows exactly how painful it is for Dexter to admit he needs help. He raises his eyebrows, and Dexter belatedly realizes he’s still blocking the door. 

“Oh. Uh, come in.” Dexter steps back, keenly aware that this is the first time the surly baker has ever actually set foot in his shop. 

Why does he need Mike to approve of it?

Mike sets the tealights on the nearest table, taking a couple out and lighting them with a stick lighter tucked in his apron before he settles into one of the wooden chairs. “I was planning on just sitting in the front shop, watching the street, making sure no one got any bad ideas considering the alarm systems are all shut down, but...then I figured I should check on you.” 

He looks a little embarrassed at the last part, looking away from Dexter and out onto the street as if he has to keep a constant vigilant watch. Dexter crosses his arms over his chest, feeling like he’s on unsure ground. He makes to sit next to Mike, then pops back up almost immediately. “Do you want a drink? I could make you a cold brew? Nothing warm, obviously.” 

“That sounds great. Light and sweet, please.” 

Pleased he has something to do now, Dexter hurries back behind the counter, making the drinks automatically with steady hands. This, he knows how to do. Talking to Mike is another story altogether. 

It’s when he goes to the back freezer to get ice that he sees the gelato experiment, already getting a little soft. His heart pangs. At least he has insurance to cover the loss of product, but he’d really been wanting to test this gelato out on a few select customers today. Chewing his lip, he pulls the small container and grabs a couple of spoons for the tray. 

When he slides it onto Mike’s table, Mike looks pleasantly surprised. “Is that yours?” 

Dexter sets one of the coffees in front of him, then pushes both spoons into the softening gelato. “Yeah, I’m thinking about adding it to the cafe.” 

“Great,” Mike mutters under his breath, probably hoping Dexter won’t hear. 

“What?” 

Caught, Mike looks guilty, and covers it up by taking a spoonful of the gelato. His face changes to pleasure, then annoyance. “Of course the coffee wunderkind that moved next door also makes amazing gelato, too.” 

“What?” Dexter asks again, surprised. “It’s good?” 

“You  _ know _ it’s good. Going to put me out of my damned business.” 

“You don’t make gelato, though,” Dexter points out. “And everyone loves your stuff.” 

“It doesn’t matter. We’re splitting the market, and with your amazing espresso, you’re going to edge me out.” Mike looks depressed, spooning up more gelato. “And this...this is heaven.” 

Dexter blushes under the praise, but he hates the way Mike’s all slumped over in his chair now. “Your pastries are to die for, Mike. You’re doing just as well as I am.” 

Mike looks over at all of the muffins and croissants Dexter had marked half-off just that morning. “Yeah, looks like you’re doing really well.” 

“Right.” Dexter sighs, feeling depressed now, too. “I know the first five years are supposed to be make-or-break for a small business, but...does it get better? The constant worrying?” 

Mike lets out a little laugh, sipping at his light and sweet cold brew. “I was raised on worry. Weaned on it. Pretty sure every conversation between my grandparents and my parents started off with a rundown of the bakery’s finances and how we were going to survive the latest business downturn.” 

Dexter leans on his hand, fascinated by the way the candlelight flickers over Mike’s features. “So why did you keep it open? Why’d you take that burden on?” 

Mike looks him straight in the eyes. “I just know it’s where I’m meant to be.” 

“What’s that like?” Dexter blurts out before he can stop himself.

Mike quirks a brow. “Really? You don’t feel like you belong?” 

Dexter shrugs, looking away. “Nothing’s felt quite right until…” He looks out the window, where the sun is just starting to paint a beautiful yellow and pink sunrise across the sky. “Until I sat here, the morning I opened, and watched the sun come up, with a warm slow-pour to drink.” 

When he glances back at Mike, Mike’s looking at him with those intense brown eyes, like he can read Dexter’s soul. “It is a lovely place to catch the sunrise, isn’t it?” 

He looks back over to his bakery, but then Dexter follows his line of sight to the windows above the bakery. Mike catches him, and smiles. “That’s my bedroom. Since I was a kid. My parents have a place, a house over on the west side of town that they inherited from my grandparents, but it’s tradition. The family running the bakery stays above the bakery.” 

“You really do belong,” Dexter murmurs. 

“You do, too.” Mike licks his spoon, looking contemplative. “I haven’t made them since culinary school, but the bakery just happens to have a press and the molds to make waffle cones.” 

They both look down at the rapidly emptying container of gelato. “You do?” 

“Maybe we need a little less competition and a little more collaboration.” 

“Melanie - my only other employee - was saying something similar. Well-” Dexter cuts himself off before he can repeat exactly what Melanie said. 

“Well, what? I think it sounds great.”

Dexter blushes, looking down at his espresso. “She said I should either fuck you, punch you, or collaborate with you, actually.” He laughs, trying to play it off, but at Mike’s continued silence, he has to look up, afraid he’s terribly offended him. 

Instead, he finds Mike looking contemplative. “She’s right, you know. I’d rather two of the three, though.” His eyes warm, and he reaches across to run his thumb over Dexter’s knuckles. “And let me tell you, I really don’t like getting punched.” 

Dexter’s heart starts to beat double time. “Me neither,” he squeaks, then covers his face in his hand, embarrassed. 

Mike slides closer, his leg resting against Dexter’s. He gently pulls Dexter’s arm down and away. “I brought you candles. It is really so hard to believe I might like you?” 

At Mike’s grin, Dexter laughs, and then does what feels natural, leaning in to slide their lips together. As he lingers, Dexter feels the warmth of the newly risen sun on his cheek, and he lets his eyes slip closed against the bright golden light, drifting to the feeling of Mike's lips against his instead.   



End file.
